


Darker shade of red

by Sumthinelse



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Frottage, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2018-10-24 02:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10732314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumthinelse/pseuds/Sumthinelse
Summary: “Do you want me to take the couch in case anyone breaks in?” he asked.“No,” she replied, tucking the covers around her.  “Nobody would ever think to look for me here.”Spoilers for 'Last Picture Show" and begins just after the events of the episode. Will roughly follow the show's timeline.





	1. Nocturnal Missions

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the rating and warnings. Both Characters are underage. No fluff here.

Jughead stirred from sleep when he heard the bedroom door squeak open. He was, by necessity, a light sleeper, and opened his eyes, not moving. He lay on his side with his arm tucked under his pillow, and could see clearly enough through his eyelashes without needing to sit up. The unfamiliar room came into focus and he remembered where he was.

  
Cheryl, in what was probably a misguided attempt at imitating kindness, had offered to let Jughead stay in the guest house when she’d seen him leaving the drive-in. After the talk he’d just had with his father, the sullen teen had accepted. He’d spent the first week anticipating eviction, or some kind of prank. When that didn’t happen, he’d expected Cheryl to ask him to do some kind of favor for her, like help her hide dead bodies, or something. She’d ignored him at school, but had started showing up while he did his homework, or cooked, or washed dishes. She’d just sit on the loveseat in the small living room, texting on her phone, or reading a magazine, usually ignoring him.

  
Jughead found he wasn’t surprised when he recognized the feminine silhouette, briefly illuminated in the doorway, before his visitor shut the door and padded silently across the floor. He didn’t know if she knew he was awake, but she didn’t hesitate before lifting the covers and sliding into bed beside him. She didn’t put her arms around him, but curled onto her side, with her back to him, and drew her knees up. They’d be spooning if she’d been lying a little closer.

“How can your feet be this cold?” he asked, hissing when her icy toes pressed against his shins.

“Shut up.”

They didn’t speak again for several minutes and Jughead had just decided to fall back to sleep when he heard her voice, thin and brittle in the darkness, devoid of its usual sarcasm.

“When we were little, Jason used to come sleep in my bed when he’d had a bad dream, and vice versa.” Despite Cheryl having her back to him, he could hear the tears in her voice, even if they didn’t fall.

“Is that why you’re here?” his own voice was rough from sleep, but he wasn’t unwilling to talk, even if the company was uninvited.

“No, I don’t remember my dreams anymore.” She cleared her throat and sniffled. “Most of the time, anyway.”

“Are you afraid someone wants to kill you?”

“Yes.”

“Considering the rate at which you make enemies, Cheryl, you’re probably right.”

“Thanks for the words of comfort,” she said blandly and he chuckled softly.

“You woke me up.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He mused that it was probably the first time she’d ever apologized to him. It was also probably the last time she ever would. “Do you want me to take the couch in case anyone breaks in?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, tucking the covers around her. “Nobody would ever think to look for me here.”

Jughead smiled and rolled over, facing the window. He fell asleep fairly quickly considering the fact that he was sharing a bed for the first time in a long time.

Warm breath caressed the back of Jughead’s neck and he woke, a little before dawn, feeling the unfamiliar sensation of being the little spoon. Cheryl had her arm draped over his waist and was tucked up behind him with her feet sandwiched between his.  
She hadn’t struck him as the cuddling type, but she was warm and he drifted back off to sleep.

When Cheryl came back a week later, slipping wordlessly into Jughead’s bed and curling away from him on her side, he rolled onto his back and gave up one of the pillows without a fight, or comment. He has nearly fallen back to sleep when she rolled over and tucked herself against the side of his chest. He smiled a little and drifted off, feeling a small amount of satisfaction that she trusted him.

Cheryl and Jughead didn’t speak at school, and it suited them both fine since they didn’t really have anything to talk about, but her visits to his bed became more frequent. After two weeks of sporadic nocturnal appearances, he barely woke when she came in for the third night in a row; he just lifted his arm from where he slept on his side and let her settle her back against his chest. Several hours later, he realized the folly of this when he woke to answer the call of nature and realized he’d been spooning Cheryl with morning wood.

Attempting to delicately extricate himself from her long, hair, Jughead crawled over her to get to the bathroom. It was four in the morning, but he opted for a quick, cold shower in order to avoid embarrassment for the next few hours. The alternative, with her in the next room, was unthinkable. When he opened the door to the bathroom, Cheryl stirred and shaded her eyes from the overhead light.

“What are you doing?” She asked, grumpily as he pulled the cord, sending the room back into darkness.

“Showering,” he answered, grunting as his toe hit the bedside table. His eyes weren’t accustomed to the dark anymore. “I wanted to get in before rush hour.” He hopped nimbly over her and eagerly got back under the blankets. He turned away from her, in order to avoid any other anatomical mishaps and heard her sigh heavily before rolling over to throw an arm over him.

“You’re freezing.” She was surprised and lifted her head off the pillow, gripping his upper arm. “Like, your whole body is an ice cube. Is the hot water heater on the fritz?”

“No,” he mumbled

“Did you take a cold shower?”

“Yes, go back to sleep.” He felt the vibration of her laughter when she pressed her forehead against his spine. He rolled his eyes in exasperation, “It happens to all guys in the morning,” he continued, defensively. She was chuckling softly, now. “It would have been …discourteous if I’d just left it like that while acting as temporary Big Spoon.”

“Discourteous?” She laughed. “Oh, was that what was poking me in the lower back? I thought it was a finger.”

“Believe me, you’d have known the difference,” he replied, grumpily. “But I don’t take advantage of sleeping bedmates.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would.” She settled down behind him and eventually they fell back to sleep.

Cheryl was absent for several nights before she came back. Jughead hadn’t exactly missed her, but he’d grown accustomed to her warmth and found himself sleeping more fitfully, like his sleeping self was waiting for her. Then the door squeaked and he opened his arms when she got into bed, resting her head on his chest, He tucked his chin against the top of her head and smelled her fragrant shampoo, drifting into deep sleep.

Jughead stirred from a pleasant dream and rubbed his face against long, silky hair. A warm hand ran over his chest and a long, slim leg slid up over his knees. He turned into the familiar embrace and felt full, soft lips press into his. He opened his mouth with a sigh and returned the kiss, hesitantly while leaning into the gentle caresses. It felt good to be touched so gently, and with affection. The warm waves of sleep gave way to a deeper heat of arousal. He opened his eyes and found himself wrapped around Cheryl. She was lying, half-sprawled, on top of him, and in the dim light from the moon, he could see that she was looking down at him. Confused, he pulled back a little.

“Mmmh, what are you doing?” The teen mumbled, rubbing a hand on her lower back, absently while dragging his other hand over his eyes. He wondered when he’d arrived in the Twilight zone. Her knee inched higher and came dangerously close to an area of his body that was also waking up. He turned quickly onto his side, trying to fend off the discovery. Her leg kept moving up until her knee was near his hip and her lower leg draped over the back of his thigh. She moved her hand down his chest and to his abdomen before he grabbed her wrist. Their faces were inches apart and she closed the distance, kissing him a little harder. He kissed her back, for a moment, before turning his face away. “Wake up, Cheryl,” he said.

“I am awake.” She arched her back and pressed her breasts against his chest. “And so are you.”

“Yeah, now.” Jughead pushed away from her, falling to his back and left one of his knees cocked up to hide the status of his lower body. He scrubbed a hand over his face, and stared at the ceiling. “If I hadn’t, would you have taken things too far?” He felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger.

“What’s too far?” she asked, coyly. The Cheryl from school was in his bed now, not the one he’d been sleeping beside. She sat up, suddenly and straddled his hips. He gripped her thighs, automatically, as if he could hold her off. She settled her weight on him, letting the warmth from her body press against his thickening erection, and making his whole body go rigid. He noticed she only wore a tank top and panties, which meant that she’d ditched her cotton pajama pants before she’d begun touching him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he moved his grip to her forearms.

“Cheryl,” he said, trying to hide the tremble in his hands. “I’m not used to the way you play games.” He jumped when she rolled her hips and ground down against him. He grabbed for her waist in a panic, to try and stop her movements. “I swear to you, I wasn’t going to try anything!” He heard his voice crack in desperation.

“I know, you were being …courteous.” Her voice was velvety soft and she moved her hands down his chest and under his t-shirt. “Your skin is so soft, it’s like sleeping with a skinny plushie.” He gripped her wrists and stopped her exploration.

“This isn’t funny, Cheryl.”

“I’m not laughing.” She rolled her hips against him and to his embarrassment, he began to swell and harden. She smiled when she felt him and did it again, pulling an involuntary groan from him. “You were right, there’s no mistaking it for a finger in the dark.” She inched her way lower on his hips, and his erection sprang up between them, tenting his pajama pants.

“Happy now?” he asked, coldly. He felt humiliation blaze through him like a forest fire. “You’ve proved you can get me excited with very little effort. Congratulations, I’m a guy.”

“Intrigued? Yes. Happy? Not yet.” She slipped her wrist from his grip and wrapped her cool fingers around his stiffening shaft. He fisted his hand in the sheets and gritted his teeth when she began to stroke him through the thin cotton of his pajamas. His brain refused to work properly and he arched, involuntarily, bucking up into her hand. He felt her hand stop and she rested her palms on his legs, and moved down from his hips to his thighs. He needed to put a stop to this.

“Cheryl-” His protest stopped when she tugged down the top of his pants and bent over, taking the swollen head of his penis into her mouth.

The pleasure was too intense, and Jughead couldn’t speak. He closed his eyes and pressed a hand against his forehead. His other hand held Cheryl’s wrist and he squeezed it when she began to suck. He let go and reached up to grip the bars of the headboard. He rolled his hips as she moved up and down his shaft, slicking his flesh with her saliva. His breath was coming in short pants and he knew he couldn’t hold out for long. Suddenly her mouth left him and he opened his eyes, looking up at her.  
“Do you want me to stop?” she asked.

“Uh, I can’t-” He gritted his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t stop.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“Please don’t stop!” he gasped, and then sighed with relief when she enveloped him again. She took her time building him back up with slower, firmer pulls with her mouth. Eventually he let out a hoarse cry an arched up into her mouth when he climaxed. She sucked him through the spasms before spitting his semen onto the sheets beside him.

“Do your laundry.” She got up and left the room after that, and Jughead loosened his aching fingers from the bedpost. He took a shower and washed the sheets, like she’d ordered. His stomach burned with shame at how she’d managed to control him, so easily. She’d showed him her vulnerability and gained his trust, so he wouldn’t push her away. He wished he’d resisted her, and he couldn’t help feeling like he’d failed some test, and that she was disappointed.


	2. Traditions Followed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-beta. Sorry, I'm terrible at editing my own stuff, feel free to mention mistakes.

Jughead did his best to put the surreal events of the previous night in the back of his mind. He focused on his investigation with Betty and Kevin. They were interrupted by the sweetly hesitant Trevor, who verified his date with the pretty blonde. He was surprised when he felt an unfamiliar twist in his chest; his friend was dating someone. He and Kevin picked her denial apart, effectively tag-teaming her, and only gained a blush and a denial for their trouble. He was jealous. He reminded himself that he had no right to be jealous when he was engaging in…activities.

            The moody teen kept thinking about Betty’s ‘ _Intelligence gathering mission_ ’ with Trevor, and stayed on the higher bleachers during Veronica’s teasing. He didn’t need anyone seeing him roll his eyes when the dark-haired girl referenced Nicholas Sparks in regards to Betty and Trevor. He ignored the discussion until Cheryl’s voice startled him.

            “Sorry to interrupt, Sad Breakfast Club.” Cheryl handed out the formal invitations while telling them all that they were formally invited to the second, and apparently more fashionable funeral for her brother. She didn’t look at Jughead, but handed his invite to Kevin who handed it back to him.  He broke the seal and read the fine script with the date and time.  Veronica left just after Cheryl, and he made his excuses, wanting to be alone. She was burying her brother…again. Kinda. Maybe she’d needed a distraction, or some comfort from him. Any residual anger he’d been feeling towards the girl, for coming onto him so strongly, eased off. It was replaced by something else; pity? Compassion? He wasn’t completely certain.

            Jughead took the city bus out to the stop that was closest to the Blossom’s estate. He used the side-entrance, as Cheryl had requested. The guest house was actually the old gate house from when the main entrance was closer to the maple grove. The building was square, two stories, and made from the same stone as the large home. It had small windows, and old doors; a bit neglected, but still classy. The pond and a grove of decorative trees separated it from the main house, but a stone pathway wove through the trees to the door. The first floor had a small kitchen with a breakfast bar, a couch and a chair. The upstairs was one large master suite with a standing shower, but no bathtub.  He didn’t mind, it was the nicest place in which he’d ever lived.

Jughead stared at the wall in silence and thought about packing up his things tonight. The Blossoms would probably need the guest house for family members who’d be arriving for the funeral. He thought about the clean sheets on the bed, and remembered Cheryl spitting after he’d come in her mouth. For all of her actions as the aggressor in... _'The Event'_ , that had seemed the most upsetting. She had been rejecting part of him; and to spit his own substance onto the bed where he slept had been visceral and raw. It had hurt and embarrassed him, and left him feeling like there was something wrong with him. He glanced at the kitchen and the instant noodles he was planning to eat for dinner, when the door opened. He stood, quickly, and rubbed his damp palms on his trouser legs.

            Cheryl had changed her clothes since school. No longer in her black skirt and blouse, she now wore a white, pantsuit that flattered her. She also looked like she was freshly showered, and wore very little makeup now. She held the door open and a young woman in black pants and a white shirt walked in. She carried a large serving tray and looked at the redhead who jerked her chin at the bar. Giving Jughead a brief smile, the woman set the tray down and left. There were several covered dishes on the tray, along with a pair of carafes, and the smell of food made his stomach growl; he joined her at the bar.

            “The caterers came by with samples for the food we’re serving at the funeral,” Cheryl said, closing the door behind her. “They always bring too much.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder and approached the tray. “There’s some baked salmon with rice and asparagus,” she said, lifting one of the silver-domed covers. “If you’d prefer beef, there’s steak, herbed potatoes and peas.” Her skin was ghostly, and there was a slight tremor in her hands when she lifted the second cover.

            “Do you need me to leave tonight?” Jughead asked, placing his hand on the granite countertop. “I mean, if you have family or friends coming for the funeral, they’ll probably need the guest house, right?”

            “Don’t be silly,” she replied, placing a set of silverware rolled in a linen napkin on the counter. “Family and friends will stay in the main house.” She glanced around at the room. “This place hasn’t been updated in so long, it wouldn’t be suitable.” She didn’t seem to notice what she’d just said, and he smiled. Then he noticed her eyes flick to the second set of silverware on the tray.

            “Which did you like best?” The question was neutral enough, intended to keep her engaged. Jughead wasn’t sure why he wanted her to continue talking to him, but she seemed so fragile, he had a sudden fear that she’d get knocked over by the army of staff who were carrying chairs and tables into the main house. If she fell, he was certain she’d shatter; porcelain shards on the heavy stone.

            “I didn’t try either one.” The redhead didn’t look at him, but busied herself setting down the plates and adding empty wine glasses. He noticed that the glasses were different, and realized that one was for the red wine that she poured from one of the carafes, and the other glass was for the white.

            “What are you in the mood for?” he asked, picking up the glass of red wine and giving it a quick sniff.  “Red or white?” He caught the hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth.

            “In this outfit?” she gestured to the white silk. “White.”

            “Don’t want to live dangerously?” He let a smile of his own come out. He nudged the glass of red wine towards her. “Playing it safe?”

            “You just want the salmon,” she replied.

            “We can switch halfway, if you want.” Jughead picked up the glass of white wine and waited while his hostess moved the tray to the small table beside the couch. There were smaller dishes that hadn’t been uncovered, but he could be patient. The plates and glasses were set across from each other. He tugged out the tall chair that was in front of the beef dish for her, receiving a satisfying look of surprise. He might not have had many opportunities to show off, but his mother had taught him manners, and his father had reminded him to always use them with ladies. He sipped the white wine, cool and crisp, as he sat down in front of his own plate.

            “Veronica’s going to come over the night before the funeral,” Cheryl said, neatly slicing off a small piece of beef. “She’s going to have dinner and then sleepover with me.” She was giving Jughead an explanation for a planned absence from his bed. She popped the beef into her mouth and chewed, delicately. Then she sliced a small potato in half and ate it, followed by a forkful of peas. Following her example, he took a small bite of the salmon and ignored the asparagus.  The fish melted in his mouth and he gave a small nod. “How is it?” she asked

            “Light,” he replied. “The dill works.” The teen took a bite of the rice and another sip of the wine. “I’m no expert, but the wine works well.” Cheryl nodded, keeping her eyes on her own plate. They ate in silence for a few more minutes, and he made sure to stop eating once he was halfway through the salmon. 

            “You should try the asparagus,” Cheryl said, lightly, eyeing his plate.  “It’s very fresh.”

            “Sure, Mom,” he said, grinning.  He sliced off the head of one of the spears and popped it into his mouth. It _was_ better than the frozen stuff his mother had occasionally inflicted on him in his youth, and he ate a second spear.

            “Want to try the beef?” The redhead looked up then, meeting her guest’s eyes directly. She picked up the carafes and refilled their glasses.  When he nodded, she gently switched the plates and glasses. “Unforgivable, I know,” she said with a dainty shrug. “Mommy would die if she saw me giving someone a plate from which I’ve already eaten.” She twisted the stem of the wine glass, slightly, and Jughead noticed that the buttery print from his lips that sat on the edge of the glass was now closest to her. He glanced at the dark, red wine in the glass beside the plate of beef. A smudge of pale pink was visible, where her lip gloss had been left behind. She was watching him from under her lashes, and without thinking, he twitched the stem between his fingers, and left the unblemished side facing her.

            “I don’t mind.” He picked up her fork and cut himself a piece of the beef. The meal was a bridge; a gesture of caring. She drank from his glass, touching her lips to the spot where his mouth had left traces of himself; it was an acceptance of him. He lifted the other glass and took a sip of the richer, earthier wine. He accepted a taste of her in return, and his lips were sticky from the gloss.

            A softer expression crossed Cheryl’s features. She shifted in her seat and relaxed, slightly. They didn’t talk until she’d finished the last piece of asparagus and rose to take the plates back to the tray. She stacked them and brought back two chilled plates. One had a slice of chocolate cake, the other had a slice of cheesecake.

            “You can have both of these,” she said, placing them in front of him. “I’ve got to do my homework.” She left without another word and Jughead enjoyed his two desserts.

            Jughead emailed Betty, sending her a link to a collection of funny cat videos. He thought about her upcoming date with Trevor and sulked, refusing to examine his feelings other than to acknowledge his preference for keeping their investigation small. He brought the tray and dishes back to the main house and set them on a table where someone would be sure to find them. He left, quickly, not wanting to run into the Blossoms.

            Jughead changed into his pajamas and slipped between fresh-smelling sheets. He guessed he’d be sleeping alone that night, but wasn’t all that surprised when Cheryl slipped under the covers beside him at around Midnight. He figured she had to wait until after her parents had gone to bed before leaving the house. She lay beside him, on her back, and stared at the ceiling. He waited until she’d let out her second heavy sigh before speaking.

            “Thank you for dinner.”

            “You’re welcome.”

            “We didn’t bother to update the gate house,” she began. Her voice was brittle and thin, like the first night she’d stayed with him. “So walking in here is a bit like walking back in time.” She turned and looked at him. “I hadn’t been in here for over a year, and nothing’s changed in the last ten.” She looked at the fan on the ceiling. “I feel a little more connected to who I was before he died.”

            “Disassociation is common with a big loss, or a major change.” Jughead wasn’t sure why he chose to speak. “People who get divorced, or have children, or have a life-altering event sometimes feel like they have a sudden change in identity.  They’ve stopped _being_ the person they were before it happened.  You’re not the Cheryl you used to be.  You’re someone else now; this place reminds you of how it felt to be her.” He rolled onto his side. “You’re allowed to miss her.”

            “I wish we weren’t having this funeral,” she lifted her hand and placed it against his cheek. “I never attended a funeral before; not for someone I actually cared about.”

            Technically, Cheryl had already attended Jason’s funeral, but she’d been under the impression he was still alive at the time.

            “All of the traditions that different civilizations follow when it comes to burying the dead have two major purposes.” He placed his palm on the crown of her head. “To allow the living to make peace with their loved ones, and to show the world that the person who died…mattered.” He saw her tilt her head. “Going to the trouble of _observing_ traditions like dressing up for the service, or having flowers, or carving a headstone means that this person mattered. He was worth the tears; he was worth the effort, and worth the pain of standing up in front of everyone and talking about your feelings, no matter how much it hurts.”

            “Jason deserved to be missed.” Cheryl’s lips trembled, slightly, and Jughead leaned down, and touched his own to them. It was just a gentle brush, and then he withdrew.

            “Jason deserved to be missed,” he repeated.  He wasn’t sure what had inspired his thoughtful commentary on death and funerals.  He wasn’t big on platitudes, but he’d attended funerals in the past, his father’s friends, mostly. The Serpents had had their own traditions, and his father had first told him about why traditions were important. He hadn’t thought that conversation would be significant to the Blossom family, but he supposed it fit for everyone. Cheryl’s face, clean and pale, seemed to collapse under the weight of her emotions, and she rolled away, hiding her expression.

            Jughead scooted up behind her, tucking his knees behind hers. He brought one arm over her shoulder and the other under her neck. He clasped his arms over hers, where she hugged herself. He squeezed her, wringing a sniffle from her and held her until she got herself under control. She felt fragile to him, again. Breakable. He wanted to offer her some peace, and felt strangely pleased that he was the person she was asking for comfort.

            “Thank you,” she said, and cleared her throat.

            “You’re welcome.”

            Cheryl let out another sigh and Jughead smiled.

            “I just…” The pretty redhead seemed to struggle with herself. She shifted around again and he let go of her arms, watching her turn over until they shared a pillow. “I don’t know,” she said, but placed her palm on his chest. “I know last night was a little-”

            “If you want this house to be…a place that doesn’t exist in the rest of your life, that’s fine.  You can come here and be the other Cheryl.” He placed his hand over hers and held it there.

            “I don’t want to seem weak,” she said. “With the funeral coming up, I just can’t seem to get any sleep.” She seemed so vulnerable, and alone, surrounded by her terrifying family, she was clinging to him like a life raft. He was nobody’s idea of a hero, but maybe she didn’t need one.  Maybe she didn’t need him to save her. Maybe she just needed a little contact. He could do that for her.

            “I don’t think you’re being weak,” he said. “But I won’t mention this-” he gestured to the room around them, “-to anyone. So be who you need to be here.”

            “What if I’m a loser?”

            “You can be a loser.”

            “What if I’m demanding and needy?”

            “You’re allowed.”

            “What if I’m clingy?”

            “I _guess_ you can cling,” he said, with a sigh. “If you need to.”

            “But, just here.” She moved her hands into his hair. “Nowhere else.” She looked up at him, asking permission. Asking for something more, and asking him to keep it a secret. He nodded silently and let her pull his face down to hers.

 


	3. Sleepless in Riverdale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Chapter contains sexual activity.

There had been more than the usual noise to disturb Jughead’s sleep: flowers being delivered, food being delivered, and guests whose flights had been late. Cheryl had stirred a few times, and only woke fully when a shrill voice had cut through the night. It was too far away and too distorted by the window to make out the argument; but close enough to tell that the Blossoms were the ones arguing.  The redhead froze, her palm flat against Jughead’s chest, in full fight or flight mode. That the girl’s parents gave her that reaction would have been terrifying, if the teen hadn’t already been afraid of them.

            “They’re mad at someone else,” she whispered, looking up at him from the pillow.

            “How can you tell from here?” he asked. “I can’t even hear what they’re saying.”

            “Daddy almost never raises his voice in front of others, only when he’s competing with my mother.”

            “It’s scary that you know this,” he said, deadpan. “It’s like a freaky dog whistle.  Only people who live with that level of family dysfunction can comprehend what’s spoken in that range.”

            Cheryl pressed her face into his chest, smothering her laugh, before biting him, playfully. He jumped and rubbed at the spot. “Ow!” He said.

            “Your chest is so skinny, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to bite some flesh when it finally appeared.”

            “Great, I’m gonna end up with eccentric rabies.”

            “What?” she rubbed a hand over her face, and yawned.

            “Regular rabies is for the poor. Eccentric is what they call hydrophobia of the 1%.”  He frowned at her. “You should know that.”

            Cheryl smiled, tired but relaxed, and Jughead leaned down to kiss her; the first kiss he’d initiated. It was quick and light, but then her fingers were in his hair and she was holding him in place. The spark between them ignited more quickly than he expected, and flickered into a flame. He felt her shift her knee up, and then he pulled back to move his legs between hers. He settled his hips between her thighs and re-took her mouth. He brought his elbows up to hold his weight, and cupped her face in one, large palm.

            The kisses became urgent and heated; tongues mostly stayed out of it, just kiss after kiss until Cheryl let out a soft moan. Jughead dropped his mouth to her throat when she tilted up her chin. She shivered when he got to the spot under her ear and he paused to tug at the soft lobe with his teeth. She arched up against him, and he felt her warmth pressing against the stiffened flesh of his erection. He settled into the cradle of her thighs and braced his knees against the mattress, rolling his hips and rocking against her in return.

            After a few sweaty minutes of kissing and delightful friction, Jughead pulled back and touched Cheryl’s plush, bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. He opened his mouth to ask the question that was dominating his currently limited though processes, but the words wouldn’t form.

            “Just this,” the redhead whispered. “Just this for tonight. Is that okay?”

            “This is good,” he replied, finding his voice. “But it won’t take much for me. What’s going to work for you?” His question made her blink in surprise, but then she smiled at him.

            “I can make this work if I’m on top.”

            “Okay,” Jughead replied, breathlessly. He rolled Cheryl on top of him and placed his hands on her hips, neither guiding, nor restricting her movements, just holding her. With ample time for his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room, he watched her face, fascinated.

            Cheryl’s knees were snug against the outside of the young man’s hips, and she leaned forward, placing her hands on the mattress on either side of his head. She shifted until she could move herself, and get gentle but firm stimulation directly where she wanted it. His erection was hard, but the layers of clothing that separated them gave enough of a barrier that she felt confident he wouldn’t climax too quickly. She raised her eyebrows, silently asking his approval as she began to grind down on him, slowly. He gave her a quick nod, and hesitantly moved his fingers under the hem of her sleep shirt. She took the hint and started to tug it over her head, but his frantic grip on the fabric made her drop her hands back to her sides,

            “What?” Cheryl asked, keeping her hips moving.

            “My part of this is gonna be over really fast if I see what’s under your shirt right now,” Jughead replied with a tense laugh. “I’m all for seeing it, don’t get me wrong,” he continued. “I just think you should probably try to finish first.”

            “Is this okay?” She asked, breathlessly. She brought his hands up and placed them on the front of her shirt, pressing his palms against her breasts.

            “Will it help _you_?”

            “As long as you don’t chafe me.”

            “Got it, no chafing.”

            Jughead rubbed his thumbs gently over the puckered nipples he could feel pebbling beneath the thin, soft cotton of her shirt. He felt Cheryl pick up her pace and she leaned down, almost flattening her chest against his as she rolled her hips more quickly. The button on his boxer shorts dug uncomfortably into the side of his sensitive, engorged flesh on every third thrust she made against him. It helped to keep him from coming too quickly, and wasn’t quite painful enough to flag his erection. The friction was more than pleasant, and the feel of her breasts beneath his hands was phenomenal, but the factor that had him close to creaming his shorts was the expression on her face.

            Cheryl’s breath came in quick pants and her eyes were closed with tension lines forming between her brows. She bit her bottom lip and held it pressed between her teeth while giving a couple of short, jerky pushes. Then her trembling lips parted, and her hands fumbled against Jughead’s shoulders, gripping him and digging her sharp nails into him. Her breath hiccupped, and her face contorted, like she was about to cry, and he felt her legs clench around his narrow hips as she made a soft, sweet sound. It was half way between a gasp and a sigh, and he dug his nails into his palms in order to avoid coming right then.

            “Oh, fuck,” the redhead whispered, as she rocked down on him a few more times with her eyes closed tightly and her arms trembling.  She sat back, pulling her weight back a few inches until she was no longer resting her over sensitized clitoris against the erection beneath her. She could still feel the heat of him through her damp, cotton panties, but the pressure was less direct. “What do you want me to do for you?” she asked, running a shaky hand over his chest before brushing her sweaty hair off her forehead.

            “Gimmie a sec,” Jughead replied. “That was seriously hot to watch.” He reached up and moved a fingertip over her forehead, and pulled a few dark strands from her face. He was achingly hard now, and debated asking her to use her hands or mouth on him, but the more primal feeling of being between her thighs held more of an appeal, as did the thought of _not_ coming embarrassingly fast again.  He sat upright, so they were face to face and tugged on the bottom of her shirt.  She raised her arms, and let him inch it up her torso.

When the garment was discarded, Jughead ran the tips of his fingers up the smooth, pale flesh of Chery’s stomach, and over the rounded globes. He filled his hands and let his open mouth hover over one of her nipples, bathing it in his warm breath. It puckered tighter, and he paused before brushing his bottom lip over it. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“They’re amazing.”

Jughead rubbed both lips over her breasts before gently sucking each one into his mouth, and circling it with the tip of his tongue. With his hands he gently squeezed and rubbed, and with his mouth he continued to play with them for a few minutes before the aching heaviness in his groin became too distracting.  He rolled them both over so that he was between her thighs and kissed her, wetter and deeper this time. “Are you still sensitive?” he asked, palming her hip and pulling her knee around his waist.

“A little,” she said, shyly.

“Okay, change of plans.”

Jughead moved back and brought Cheryl’s legs together, rolling her onto her side. He brought his knee between her top and bottom legs and scooted up so his hips were against her ass. He moved one arm to support him and draped the other over her side so he could continue to touch and caress her breasts.  The thick, hot ridge of his erection rested between the cleft of her buttocks and she tilted her hips, accommodatingly. He took a lesson from her earlier actions and began to thrust against her, rolling his hips slowly at first, trying to find a comfortable position where he could maintain stimulation.

Jughead found his rhythm hard to maintain and rolled Cheryl onto her belly, settling himself between her thighs. He gave a quick, rough thrust against her, and reached into his pants to shove his boxers down far enough that the annoying button wouldn’t interfere with him again. He left his pajama pants up, keeping a barrier between himself and the soft panties that covered her. He gave another experimental push, and found the friction to be perfect.

“Oh,” Cheryl exclaimed when she felt the blunt head pressing against the cleft of her buttocks. She raised herself on her elbows and brushed her long hair to the side, tilting her head and giving Jughead access to her neck. “That’s good.”

Pressing his face against Cheryl’s neck, Jughead held himself with his elbows on either side of her, and reached underneath her to cup one firm breast in his hand. He stroked and fondled her gently while he began to thrust against her. He peppered her shoulders and neck with damp, open-mouthed kisses while he rutted against her ass with harder and faster thrusts.  She began to pant and tilt her hips up to meet him, surprising him with her pleasure.

As much as he’d have liked it to go on forever, the young man felt his climax begin to burn in his lower belly, and quickened his pace, pushing down harder.

“Can I come on you?” he whispered, harshly.

“God, Yes!’ She gasped.

Jughead grunted through his last few thrusts and jerked down the front of his pants; there was already a damp spot where his pre-come had soaked through. He balanced his weight on one arm while he gave his erection a few rough stroked before the first hot splatters of his ejaculation painted Cheryl’s pale skin. He scooted forward to straddle her hips and pressed the spot between his balls and his ass, drawing out his orgasm. He could see the shiny drops of thick fluid on her back and reached a shaky hand for the box of tissues on the night stand. He wiped her clean while waiting for his breath to go back to normal, and then tucked himself back away in his boxers and pajamas.

“Jesus,” he said, falling back beside her, once he’d discarded the soiled tissues. He pulled her into his arms and tucked her head against his shoulder.  “Sorry I’m so sweaty.”  He kissed her forehead and rubbed a hand over her back, checking for any spots he missed.

“I’m sweaty too,” she replied, planting a small kiss on his jaw. She accepted her shirt when he handed it back to her and drew it back on. The cool, autumn draft from the window felt good for a few minutes as it dried their perspiration, but eventually, he tugged the sheets and comforter back over them both.

Jughead sighed, tiredly and rolled onto his side, spooning Cheryl with one arm pillowing her neck and the other draped over her waist. He listened to her deep, even breathing while he drifted back off to sleep.

Cheryl could feel Jughead’s breath on the back of her neck as he slept. She thought about what they’d just done, and as satisfying as her orgasm was, she couldn’t help focusing on some of his actions. The way he’d held off on seeing her topless until she’d climaxed, asking what she liked, and checking for approval before doing something new. She wasn’t used to guys being so considerate. Usually, she dealt with shy fumbling from the guys who were intimidated, or the over-confident groping of the ones who weren’t. Jughead had shown her consideration and concern that felt natural, as well as confidence that belied experience.

            After the Homecoming game, during her freshman year, Cheryl had had her first sexual experience. The little bit of kissing and minor butt-groping under the bleachers had been underwhelming, but not unpleasant until the boy in question, a senior named Nick, had run his mouth off to everyone who’d listen that she’d given him a blowjob. Disgusted with him, she’d cried to Josie who’d discouraged her from trying to set the record straight. Her friend had told her to never give away intimate information just to quell a rumor; it would have only made her seem defensive.  Instead she’d looked down her nose at the idiot and loudly proclaimed that she’d been willing to keep the disappointing size of his dick a secret, but since he’d been so eager to make it public knowledge, who was she to hide it.

            It had been the first battle Cheryl had won. Nick had been faced with the choice to either come clean that she’d never seen his dick, or admit he’d lied, or endure the embarrassment of the rumor the way she had.  He’d chosen to shut his mouth about the incident, and had made an effort to be nice to her for the rest of the year. Nick had also given Cheryl her first lesson in grudges, and how it was possible to hide dark intentions behind a brilliant smile.


	4. After the funeral

**Sorry this is such a short chapter. I've got the next one nearly finished, where all the angst comes in, but I added this scene because I wanted to give them one more night before hurting them. The next chapter jumps ahead in time.**

 

The next night, Jughead had seemed a little preoccupied when Cheryl arrived, he was still dressed in jeans and a t-shirt instead of his pajamas. He looked up at her when she stood in the doorway in just her nightgown and quickly closed his laptop. He stood up and stretched, rubbing the back of his neck, tiredly.

            “Lost track of time,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He pulled his pajamas out from under the pillow and went into the bathroom. Cheryl heard the toilet flush and the sound of him brushing his teeth before he emerged, ready for sleep. He tucked his laptop into his bag and knelt beside her to slide it under the bed.

            Cheryl moved close to Jughead until her knee nudged his shoulder. He stopped and his eyes flicked to her leg. He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. In the dim light, she noticed that his eyes were green, not brown like she’d always assumed. His face was almost feminine with its smooth skin, delicate jaw and full mouth. She placed her palm on his cheek and ran the tip of her thumb over his bottom lip. He opened his mouth and caught the fleshy pad of her thumb between his teeth, and rested the tip of his tongue against it.

            Jughead remained on his knees, but brought his palm around Cheryl’s leg and up her calf. His thumb stroked the sensitive inside of her knee and he waited, watching her.

            “How was breakfast with the Coopers?” she asked, taking her thumb back.

            “Not bad.”

            “Did you have dinner already?”

            “Burger at Pop’s.”

            “You’re full?”

            “I could eat.” His eyebrow made the slightest flicker, and he shifted so he was kneeling directly in front of her.

            Cheryl made no move to tug her nightgown down her thighs, in fact, it rode up ever higher when she reached for the lamp, shutting it off and plunging the room into darkness.

            “I wanted to see you.”

            “Do you need a map?”

            “Probably not.”

            Cheryl smiled and ran a hand over Jughead’s hair. She guessed he hadn’t done anything like this before, and waited to see if he wanted to do it. Not all guys did.

            “Lie back,” he said, softly. His hands were on her knees and he tugged them forward, so they were on either side of his torso. “I really want to do this,” he said, when she hesitated. “If you want me to.”

            Cheryl reclined onto the bed, and felt the windowsill bump against her wrists as she raised her arms over her head. She looked up at the ceiling and waited while his hands shyly pushed her nightgown up to her waist. She felt his breath on her stomach and breathed out, slowly, trying to shove away her own nervousness. She didn’t want to tell him that she didn’t have a lot of experience with this either.

            Occasionally, one of Cheryl’s lovers, or hookups would make a quick stop to get her wet before jumping to the main event. None of them had made it seem like a chore, just part of the journey to getting their dicks inside of her. Jughead was different. He pressed kisses to her stomach and traced her hipbone with his thumb before tugging her panties down. She shifted to help him, and once he’d pulled them down her legs and off, she felt him press her thighs apart.

            Jughead’s hands were gentle as he touched Cheryl, using his fingertips to slide along the soft skin of her thighs until he reached the neatly-trimmed tuft of hair that covered her pubic mound. He stroked the soft, bare skin of her outer folds, and pressed his lips there. Gaining confidence, he pushed his hands under her legs and brought her thighs up to his shoulders, pressing his chest against the mattress. His hands crested the top of her hips and came down over the front of her abdomen to open her up to his mouth.          

            Using lips, and tongue, Jughead explored the warm, slickness. First he mouthed and sucked, experimentally, then he used the tip of his tongue to move up and down her inner folds, gauging her reactions to the different caresses.

            Once Cheryl relaxed, she felt Jughead settle into a slightly sloppy, but enthusiastic rhythm of licking and sucking at her clit. He learned to keep his contact light and not to press too hard with his tongue when he was directly on top of the sensitive little nub. When she started to squirm, and sweat, he surprised her by gripping her hips and holding her still. He tilted his head to the side, and enveloped her with his lips, sucking on her like he was giving her head. She let out a squeak after the first few sucks, and then buried her fingers in his hair. The sensations became intense so quickly, she barely registered what he was doing. She arched her back and tightened her legs around his head, wanting to pull away from the over-stimulation of the strong suction.

            Jughead gripped Cheryl’s waist and pressed his face closer, sucking her clit against the flat of his tongue, and the less-direct stimulation pushed her unexpectedly over the edge. She let out a small cry and grabbed his wrist as her orgasm washed over her in warm waves. He let up on her when her body relaxed, moving his wet lips to her trembling thighs and letting her legs down. He moved up over her, pushing her nightgown up to her neck while she lay limp beneath him. He dragged his mouth up her belly, and between her breasts, stopping to swirl his tongue around each perky nipple.

            Cheryl felt the thick ridge of Jughead’s erection through his pants as it rubbed against the cleft of her hip and thigh. He stayed at her breasts, squeezing and sucking at them, hungrily before he pushed himself up onto his hands and looked down at her.

            “How do you want me to get you off?” she asked, once her breath returned to normal.

            “Like the other night,” he replied in a husky voice, and deftly flipped her onto her belly. Her round bottom was bare to him this time, and he planted a hand between her shoulder blades, gently holding her in place. She felt him, hot and thick when he straddled her thighs and began to rub against her, using the friction of their bodies to stimulate himself. It was barely a minute before he was fumbling with the front of his pants and she heard the frantic, slick sound of his hand on himself.

            Jughead came with a gasp and the hot spurts hit Cheryl’s lower back and bottom; painting her, marking her. He panted harshly while regaining his own breath, and then got up from the bed. “Hang on, I’ll get a washcloth.” He returned and cleaned the both of them off before Cheryl rolled over and accepted her fallen panties from him. She slipped them up her damp thighs and then got under the covers, falling asleep as soon as he was settled behind her. This time he lay between her and the door.


	5. Sisters of Misery

Okay, so I put an extra day between breakfast and the Bughead trip to the convent of creepiness.

Beware...Bughead follows.

I felt like I needed to move the plot forward and into canon. The Cheryl/Jughead moments are what I imagine in between most of the scenes, and give extra depth to the interactions we do see between them. 

 

            Jughead didn’t say anything on the car ride back from the Prison/hospital/Convent run by the Sisters of Misery, where Polly Cooper had been confined. Betty had been crying softly in the front seat beside her mother who occasionally murmured something too quiet to hear. Seeing his best friend so broken had made his chest ache. Finding his voice, Jughead asked Mrs. Cooper to drop him off at Pop’s Diner. He was polite and said ‘Please’, and to his surprise, she pulled into the diner and told him she was sorry he’d been pulled into ‘all this’. He got it, finally. She was ashamed of Polly. Betty had lifted her red-rimmed, blue eyes to his and pressed her hand against the window. She wore her pain in front of him, while he fought to hide his own feelings from her. He wondered why he hid everything, she’d never judge him. She was too good, and kind, and sweet to do that.

            Sliding into his usual booth, Jughead nodded to the waitress and accepted the coffee she offered. He ordered his usual burger and fries, and took his laptop out of his bag. He pulled up his documents about Jason Blossom’s murder and stared at the titles. Each of his articles, and his chapters for his book had clever, witty headings that he’d thought on for a long time. His readers would need to read the chapter and then reflect back on his cleverness in thinking of the title. He’d been surrounded by the effects of a teenager’s murder for months, but had felt removed from it. He’d been a passenger in Riverdale’s big murder mystery, but hadn’t felt like a part of it until now.

Polly Cooper was pregnant with Jason Blossom’s baby, and being held against her will out of the public eye. It was about as big a break in the case as Jughead could have expected. With the knowledge had come something unexpected for the teen, and he’d been floating on it ever since.

Isolated by the staff, Jughead hadn’t been with Betty during the confrontation with her mother, so he didn’t know exactly what had been said yet. But when they were being escorted out, and Polly and Alice Cooper had had their confrontation in the hallway, he’d been surprised to feel the orderly’s hands on him. He’d actually been stepping forward to come to his best friend’s aid, upset that she was in distress when things had gotten physical. He’d felt a flare of protectiveness that, in retrospect, had made him feel more alive than anything outside of the Blossom’s guest house.

It was like scraping the frost from a windshield. The apathetic, low-level buzz of interest that Jughead had felt about the case had been out of boredom, at first. Then Betty’s trust in him to help her find information had been more of a boost. Each secret uncovered had made him feel more human, but he’d still been an outsider until today. Today he’d actually seen a young pregnant girl dragged screaming down the hall while his best friend had wept with distress. He’d been manhandled by a guy who worked for the Sisters of Perpetual Judgement, and pushed around. This was the kind of life he’d always wanted to lead. One where he actually existed and mattered.

The bell over the door indicated the entrance of more patrons, but Jughead didn’t notice until he heard the familiar sarcastic tone that Cheryl always used with her friends. Her voice was always _Soooo unimpressed_ with the world around her. Today was no different. She strutted to a booth past his table and he took a quick glance at her ass. It was nice. He thought about what they’d done the previous night and felt a painful twist in his stomach. He hadn’t told her about searching for Polly Cooper. And he couldn’t tell her now about Polly’s baby. _Jason's_ Baby _.  
_

Jughead had compartmentalized the ‘Cheryl Fragments’ of his life, because they hadn’t fit anywhere, but he'd felt pity for the girl who missed her brother. He realized he must have been staring at her when he heard the other Vixens giggling. He blinked and saw they were all looking at him. He caught the waitress’ eye and signaled for the check, scooping up a few fries and taking another bite of his half-eaten burger. He felt self-conscious stuffing his face in front of her. He couldn’t afford to waste a meal, but he didn’t want to stay under scrutiny as the girls whispered and smirked, being unable to spot a more promising social prey than the town loser.

Cheryl wasn’t looking at Jughead, at first. She listened to her cronies who were pointing at him. She glanced at him and he saw her lip curl in disgust. She turned back to her friends and shuddered delicately. He shouldn’t have been surprised that it hurt, but the spark of life that had entered him made him vulnerable and the display of the disparity of their lives put things into perspective.

Jughead put down some cash, left the rest of his food, and put his laptop away. He straightened his cap and walked towards the booth, his eyes on Cheryl’s. She looked…afraid. She was afraid her friends would find out about them. The shame burned in his gut and he turned at the door, pushing it open and walking out, with his head held high. Fuck Cheryl Blossom. She could find out about Polly’s baby with everyone else. She could find someone else to toy with at night, too.

Jughead pushed thoughts of Cheryl out of his head and focused on Betty. She’d missed her sister so much, and to find out her parents had lied to her, and imprisoned the girl had to have been a huge blow. He returned to the guest house and stripped the bed.  He put the sheets in the washing machine and folded the bedspread at the end of the mattress. He packed his clean clothes and his other few possessions in his bag, and thought about where he could go. On the one hand, it wasn’t right to stay with Cheryl while hiding such a big secret from her, on the other, he had no idea what to say to her the next time they were alone; her insensitivity had left him feeling more bruised than he wanted to admit. The vulnerability she'd shown him in _their_ bed had made him feel special. Maybe he wasn't the first misfit she'd used this way. He wouldn't put it past her. 

It’s not like Jughead could blame the girl for treating him like a creeper, he was a homeless teen living in her guest house. He sighed and transferred the sheets into the dryer, took a quick shower and put the clothes he’d been wearing back on. It was getting late, and the weekend activities at the school would be ending, and with them, his excuse for being there. He left the sheets in the dryer and grabbed his box of pop tarts from the cupboard. He heard the gates open and saw Cheryl’s car drive up to the big house. He needed to be gone before she decided to have more fun with her friends at his expense and pictured the looks on their faces if they saw him there.

Jughead grabbed his pack and slipped out the back door, heading for the side entrance to the estate where he walked to the bus stop and rode to the school. He thought about Betty on the way. She’d believe him, if he told her, but he didn’t want her to know. Something about the vulnerability he’d seen after the events with the Sisters of Misery stayed on his mind. Betty’s determination, her compassion, and her loyalty had never stood out so starkly in contrast to…others. She’d trusted him, relied on him, and now she was going to need him more than ever. They were going to find answers. Together.

~

When Jughead leaned Fred Andrews’ ladder against the side of the Cooper house, he felt righteous. He’d leaned on her strength, and now felt like he could finally give something back. She needed him. She needed a friend, and Archie’s head was too far up his guitar for him to notice what was happening. It suited Jughead just fine, and he knew that it was a little selfish to be glad he was the only one who understood what was happening. His newfound sense of purpose fueled his decision to go to extremes to seek her out, and the need to connect with her, to make sure he wasn’t the only one who’d been profoundly affected by the events at the convent.

Betty turned to the window, surprised and confused, but her face broke into a smile of pure pleasure at seeing Jughead. She was upset, just as he’d expected, and filled with and a much higher level of self-doubt than he believed she deserved. He’d surprised himself by reacting naturally to her distress by placing his hands on her shoulders and offering her his own darkly comedic form of logic to chase away her anxiety. She wasn’t crazy, and people had far strangers lives than she did. He wanted to tell her about being homeless, about being caught up in Cheryl’s weird, controlling personal life. He found himself opening his mouth and starting to say it. The words caught in his throat, the secret was too big to leave his mouth. It choked him, and he found himself swallowing the words. She looked worried, uncertain, and a little afraid of what he would say. Jughead kissed her.

The kiss was soft, sweet, and reciprocated. For however brief their lips were touching, Betty had responded to Jughead with acceptance. Her eyes had fluttered closed, and her mouth had been smiling, and for a moment, he felt alive again. She was sunshine and he’d made her smile again.

Betty had, of course, had an epiphany just after the kiss, and Jughead’s masculinity nudged him with an elbow because of his role in her inspiration. He laughed it off with her, making light of their ‘moment’ with more confidence than he felt. She might have been making an excuse, and she wasn’t into him. He might have ended their friendship, but he also could probably salvage it by saying he’d wanted to comfort her. But her inspiration was real. She was brilliant, and charged up with energy, and she wanted his help.

On the soggy trip to the syrup sign, Jughead gave Betty his mental list of names for the Nuns, and she’d laughed with him. He’d held her hand in the slippery mud when they’d neared their destination and he’d felt elation when they’d spotted the old Volvo. Slogging though rain and mud with a flashlight and a pretty girl, they were actual teen sleuths, he thought, as he opened the hatch back. His heart pounded when they found the jacket, the drugs, and realized what they were onto. They’d rushed back to the school and met the Sheriff, and when the older man had taken them seriously and listened to them, he felt alive.

There was no stopping Betty Cooper once she had what she felt were the means to break her sister out of the custody of the Sisters of The Unshaven Armpits(He was sure). They’d gotten a ride with one of the deputies to the convent who’d been asked to bring Polly in for questioning. The sour-faced woman who’d tossed them out was on duty that evening, and had been arguing with the deputy when Betty just decided to stop waiting. Jughead had followed her frantic dash up the stairs and away from the Gray-haired Sister. He’d really thought this was going to be it. He was sure that Polly would have answers, or that she _was_ the answer (He didn’t share this with Betty), and was genuinely distressed at the sight of the bloody broken window.


	6. Show Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pedigreed show dogs were an investment, ones that were raised, trained, and handled by professionals, but sponsored by their owners. Clifford and Penelope Blossom had sponsored Jason and Cheryl’s upbringing. They’d been carefully bred and raised in perfect physical health. Groomed, educated, fed, and medicated into pretty young things that drew the eyes of the judges. As long as they performed well in competition, their sponsorship continued. But like in every competition, there could only ever be one Best In Show. Despite their careful efforts, one pup had managed to slip past the Blossom defenses and had wormed his way into his parents’ hearts. Only One.

Author's Note:

 

Warning of Suicidal ideation

 Jughead's life is getting better, Cheryl's is getting worse. I wanted to get a peek inside her head and inside the Blossom family.

 

 

 

Cheryl hugged Josie with genuine warmth when her friend departed Thorn Hill to finish homework. They were similar, in a lot of ways, and had enjoyed a long-term unspoken camaraderie that few of their peers understood. There were girls who could sing, there were girls who were musicians, and there were girls who had talent and beauty. But they weren’t _Josie._ There were girls who were rich, girls who were smart, girls with cutting and caustic wit, and girls who were beautiful, but they weren’t _Cheryl_. Being themselves was a responsibility that no one outside of their friendship really understood. Still, she didn’t mention Jughead.

Cheryl had seen Jughead at Pop’s and had almost _reacted_ to him. She’d thought she’d recovered in time until she’d caught one of her Vixens looking at the pale, gloomy boy. Her stomach had twisted with jealousy for a moment before she’d realized the girl was sneering at the other teen. Jughead had apparently been staring at her, and the subsequent giggling by the other girls in the booth at the outcast who’d been gazing at the queen of Riverdale had brought out her instincts. Jughead was the one who’d taken the risk and stared at her where everyone could see it. It had been his own fault that he’d been caught. Her look of disgust at his sloppy show of vulnerability was real. What had he been thinking? She’d known a moment of fear when he’d stood up from the table, tossed down a few bills she knew to be precious, and walked towards her. His gaze had met hers, and in it she’d seen indifference. He’d walked past and out the door. She’d been relieved that his mask had slipped back into place. Just relieved. Really.

As she lay in her bed, contemplating her options for the night, her thoughts drifted to the look Jughead had given her, and she’d felt the painful twist of longing in her chest for Jason. The shared birthday parties weren’t the only times he had protected his sister. In retrospect, she believed that he’d held some power over his parents, and had used it to help her.

Jason had been loved by Penelope and Clifford. That love had given him a small amount of power over them. They _cared_ how he felt about them. Their son’s regard had actually _mattered_ to them. Cheryl, when it had become clear she’d been the weaker of the twins, had barely been noticed. She wasn’t punished for not being batter than Jason, but as the child less-likely to succeed, to Cheryl, they’d simply become…indifferent. They hadn’t raised a hand to her as a child, and they hadn’t vented their rage on her often, they’d simply focused as much effort as possible into _not_ acknowledging her. She was an interloper, a stow-away on Jason’s lifeboat, someone who might steal precious resources away from their perfect boy. They'd dealt with her by making certain nothing Cheryl ever did resulted in depriving Jason of anything; not even their attention.

Jason had been subtle in his manipulation of his parents. Cheryl hadn’t realized it until much later, but because they’d cared so much about how he’d felt about them, they’d been forced to be…nicer to her. If they rolled their eyes when she spoke at dinner, regardless of the subject, Jason would freeze them out. He’d known how little they’d cared for his sister, and how much effort they’d put into making sure she knew, and while he couldn’t make Cheryl _matter_ to them, he’d damned well taught them to hide it.

Jason’s plan had been more than just crazy, it had been cruel. He’d known his death would devastate his parents, and he hadn’t cared. He’d relished the idea. Cheryl had too. When asked why she didn’t demand more answers, why she’d just gone along with the charade, she couldn’t tell anyone that it would have meant happiness. Penelope and Clifford Blossom would have lost their son. They’d be forced to pay attention to Cheryl, and Cheryl would still have Jason, the one thing they’d loved the most in the world. For her, life would have been perfect.

After Jason’s body had been found, and Cheryl’s parents had realized she’d been consciously complicit in a plan that had _actually_ led to Jason’s demise, she’d discovered just how much protection Jason had been giving her. The depth of Clifford’s hatred and resentment of his daughter had surprised and overwhelmed Cheryl, breaking through the fog of grief and loneliness. For the first time, she’d been afraid of her father. After the explosions of anger, Clifford had barely managed to contain his disgust for his daughter. For a fleeting second, Cheryl had wondered why her Daddy seemed only angry. Not sad.

Cheryl walked out the side door, and headed past the pool to the guest house. She’d been startled when she’d heard voices inside. Clifford stood in the doorway and spoke quietly, but sternly.

“I’ll need all of this junk out of here tonight.”

Cheryl reached out without thinking and grabbed her father’s arm. When Clifford turned around, she saw, not the moody teenager in the doorway, but a man in jeans and a flannel shirt. She knew him, he was a contractor they’d used before, but she didn’t know why he was here.

“What?” Clifford barked, sparing his daughter a brief glance.

“I tripped,” she lied, quickly. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going to have company, Cheryl,” he replied. He remained civil in front of the employees, and addressed her question. “The tapping.” Oh yes. The hordes of Blossoms would be coming to see how they were coping. Not out of concern, but out of greed. “The guesthouse needs to be updated before the family gets here.”

“Who’s staying in here?”

“No one,” Clifford gave her an annoyed look. “We’ve got plenty of room in house, but it still needs to be _available_.” He looked at the kitchen and the armchair critically.

“Someone was doing laundry in here,” the contractor said, jerking his head behind him. The smell of fabric softener was fresh.

“That was me,” Cheryl said, smoothly. She pushed past the man and walked to the dryer, preparing a story in her mind. When she opened it, just a set of sheets and a blanket were inside. “I wasn’t sure if the cousins from Florida were coming up this time.” She smiled at her father. “You remember how Priscilla and Toby complained about their rooms being too cold the whole time they were here, don’t you, Dadddy?” She smiled at the contractor. “You’d think they’d understand what maple season is like after doing this for decades, but some people just can’t adapt.” She placed a hand on her hip. “There’s a fireplace here. So they should be warmer. And if not,” she said, shrugging. “Then at least we can’t hear them complain.” She waited, and her father gave her a slight nod. He was either accepting her story, or agreeing with her thought process. It didn’t matter, though. It was the nicest interaction they’d had in a long time.

“They won’t be here.” Clifford turned back to the contractor and asked when he could be finished with his crew/ He was paying them to sit around anyway, so he didn’t see why they shouldn’t pull their weight.

Cheryl glanced up the stairs and remained casual, walking up to the bedroom. It was clean, but there was no sign of an occupant. She took a quick glance at the bathroom and saw that all toiletries had been removed from the sink. When she headed for the door, something under the bed caught her eye. She looked down and snatched the photograph just as the contractor and her father came up the stairs. She slid it under her shirt and turned to the window.

“What kind of updates will you be doing?” Cheryl asked the contractor.

“Sink and toilet, then re-paint. Up here’s not too bad, though.”

“Why don’t you get out of the way and let the man work, Cheryl.” Clifford didn’t scowl at her, because his Botox wouldn’t let him. She shrugged and went downstairs, checking the fridge and cabinets for signs he might return.

Jughead was gone. Cheryl knew he hadn’t been in the habit of leaving his backpack in the guest house during the day, but just now the place had looked cleaned out. Vacated. Abandoned. She was hurt and angry. He’d left without a goodbye, or a thank-you. No gratitude from hobos. She kept the picture hidden, however, until she reached her bedroom, and then she carefully smoothed it out on her bedside table. Jughead, younger, smiling, but unmistakably Jughead, stared back at her while he held a little girl’s shoulders. Stuffing it into the drawer, Cheryl changed into her nightgown and unlocked her window before settling into bed. She didn’t bother to turn off the tiny lamp beside the window, either. If it made her window look a little more welcoming, it was no one’s business but hers.

~

Cheryl gritted her teeth and smiled at Betty Cooper. She got through the baby shower while wondering how the pale, faded blonde had managed to get her hooks into Jughead. They were…an _item_.  Betty was clearly tense, and Jughead, fairly calm despite being the only dick-bearing guest to the party, seemed completely focused on her and Polly. The estrogen hung heavy in the air, and she wondered if spontaneous ovulation was possible. Maybe humans developed this kind of thing as a way to compete with other females. She shoved the thought away and went back to smiling while she visually stalked the moody teen around the room. A quiet, casual comment to Veronica had confirmed that Jughead was Betty’s _boyfriend_.

“Oh, I thought he was here with the caterers,” she’d said, breezily.

Cheryl watched Polly flit around the room, belly rounded, breasts plumped, skin glowing, and felt envious. Until Polly had appeared, bearing the fruit of Jason’s passion, Cheryl had been the strongest connection her parents had had to their son. Carried together, no one had been closer to him than she. At least until now. His last days had been spent planning his new life as a father and a husband. She’d have been everything to Jason, and Cheryl would no longer have been the only connection he couldn’t break.

After seeing Jason getting a blowjob from some random girl when they were fourteen, Cheryl hadn’t thought they’d have any more secrets. Watching Polly stroke the belly that carried Jason’s biggest secret reminded her that they hadn’t been as close as she’d thought. She rubbed her hand over her own flat stomach, and longed, just for a second, to be in the other girl’s position. Not because of Jason, and not because of the attention and adoration being poured over the girl, but because of the baby. Being a teen mom was nothing to which Cheryl would aspire, but holding a connection like that to another person would be an unbreakable bond.

Cheryl thought about the nights she’d played around with Jughead. They’d never had penetrative sex, and he hadn’t come anywhere near the important area, but however slim the chances, she wondered if it was possible. She imagined telling him she was pregnant; she pictured herself, on the phone with him while she held a home test. She’d tell him they needed to talk, she’d show him the test and he’d bury his hands in his shaggy hair. She’d say something like _I never meant for this to happen_ , and he’d reply _It’s not your fault_. They’d keep it a secret as long as possible, of course. Then one day, she’d fall during cheerleading practice, and Jughead would push through the crowd of bodies to reach her side. He’d place a hand over her belly, protective, and angry.

Cheryl would made excuses and after practice, Jughead would be waiting for her. He would manage to sneak into her bedroom. He’d be angry this time, grasping her by the arms and demanding to know if she was trying to lose the baby. She’d cry. She’d reassure him that she’d never do anything to hurt their baby, and he’d hug her tightly, apologizing for being worried. Then they’d kiss for the first time since finding out about-

“Want some cake?”

Veronica’s dark, Velvety eyes peered at Cheryl. She smiled and took the plate from her friend. She watched Polly’s mother getting agitated and pushed away her silly fantasy. It was stupid. Getting pregnant by a homeless teenager wasn’t her style. She glared at Betty and Jughead in turn until Archie Andrews lumbered into the apartment, looking, for just a second, overwhelmed by the hormones around them. She had a quick vision of him drowning in a sea of silk as the fertile females, in the throes of their maternal urges, dragged him to a settee. When it came to virility, there was no competition between the two boys. Cheryl smugly congratulated herself of dodging the Jones-bullet. With the extended Blossom relatives returning to Riverdale for the tapping, she’d need an escort.

~

Jughead found himself wrapped up in Betty for days. She was leaning on him, and he was leaning on her. Despite how devastated he’d been to get led out of the school by Mr. Weatherbee and Sheriff Keller, the relief he’d felt when Betty, Archie, and Fred Andrews had come to his aid had been worth it. He hadn’t needed to spill his secrets about staying with Cheryl, or living like a boy wizard under the stairs at the school. When Betty found out about the problems with his father, he’d already been welcomed by Fred. Archie’s dad had surprised him by stepping up and giving him an unexpected alibi. Emotional highs and lows kept coming, though. He’d been embarrassed by his dad showing up drunk, shouting impotently at the sheriff’s office. He’d never wanted Betty to see that, but the comforting squeeze of her hand had kept him grounded.

Now with secrets spilled, Jughead felt lighter than he had in a long time. He’d watched as Betty and Polly found a surprising ally in Cheryl. He hadn’t been able to speak with her, but had quietly mouthed _thank-you_ after Polly had been hustled out of the diner, and safely away from Penelope’s grasping hands. The frightened, vulnerable Cheryl who’d confessed her mother’s plan was the one he’d thought of as _his_ Cheryl. The girl who’d crept into his bed and confessed to him that she was afraid of being murdered was showing up outside of the guest house bed. He’d mused that he thought _his_ Cheryl was prettier. Without the smug expression, her lips were softer, and her eyes were rounder. For a quick moment, he’d had the urge to kiss her. He acknowledged it, and then packed it away like an old photograph.

The truce hadn’t lasted, after the baby shower from Hell, Polly had opted to move in with the Blossoms. He ached for Betty, she was so clearly being pulled into too many directions. The strain of her Dad’s banishment, her mother’s attempts at hiding how hurt she was, and the lack of contact from her sister were all wearing his girlfriend down. He went with her to speak to Cheryl, a little wary of the redhead, but unwilling to abandon Betty.

Going from bored to bubbly in a blink, Jughead was suspicious when the cheerleader announced the news that Polly was pregnant with twins. He hated her fake smile and waited for the sharp blade of her tongue to take a slash at Betty who put all of her vulnerability out there for Cheryl to mock. It just didn’t occur to Betty to play it another way. He made his comment about Polly being a prisoner, and Cheryl ignored it, but she did listen when Betty gave her message to pass along to Polly. The redhead didn’t disappoint Jughead’s expectations when she promised to tell Polly, _If I remember._

“Cheryl,” Jughead snapped, without thinking. He heard the warning in his own voice, and so did she.

“That was a joke, you hobo.” Her eyes ran over his clothes when she spoke, but her recovery was rushed, and her insult a little less-sharp than usual. She flounced away and Jughead was relieved. He’d hated hearing about Archie escorting Cheryl to the creepy tree-poking ceremony the Maple Syrup Stepfords were having. He told himself it was because they were dangerous.

Although it shouldn’t have been a surprise, Jughead’s hand paused while lifting pizza towards his mouth when he heard Cheryl’s voice at dinner that night.  He sat with Archie in the Andrews’ kitchen when Cheryl said something casually inappropriate to Fred, and pranced inside. He didn’t bother to lower his voice when she approached the table.

“The Ice Woman Commeth.” He glared at Cheryl who smiled brightly and carried an entire conversation about the awkwardly expensive gift she handed his best friend.

 Jughead imagined Cheryl’s thoughts in the second it took her to drag her eyes around the house right before casually, and innocently insulting Fred and Archie’s house. Since Jughead was just a freeloader, it was even more of an insult to him. He still stared at her ass when she left, but he did it resentfully.

 

~

Cheryl managed to keep her attention on Archie and only flicked her eyes to Jughead when she caught him chewing with his mouth open. She felt triumphant when he snapped it shut, and slouched. When she presented Archie with the gift he glared at her, and she imagined he looked a little hurt. She gushed her appreciation for Archie, and took her leave of the house, swinging her hips as she left, confident that all three pairs of eyes were glued to her behind. She tightened up her glutes when she thought about Archie and how he’d feel pressed between the cheeks of her ass.

~

Jughead was grateful for so many things. He watched Betty start to crumble as she lamented the state of her family, and he was grateful to be there for her. Her beautiful heart bled sunshine most days, and right now he could practically see it in her chest, exposed, raw, hemorrhaging pain. He was so damned grateful that they were close enough now that she’d confess her fear to him. He tripped over the cynical shield he held out in between himself and everyone else. He hadn’t dropped it quickly enough and something witty but insensitive fell out of his mouth.

Betty looked hurt, and Jughead grew up a little. He gently apologized, pleased with his ability to _adult_. She accepted and forgave in a heartbeat and listened while he reassured her that she was stronger than her parents and sister. She listened. She actually accepted his wisdom, and he hadn’t needed to mention his own failures to do the same thing. He put his hand on her shoulder, gripping her collar and wanting to pull her close but waited until she leaned in. He was grateful to hold her, to be useful to her. She needed him.

~

Cheryl stood beside the pool, barely feeling the cold when Archie joined her. He really was sweet, and it was going to be a relief to date someone so simple. She wouldn’t have to watch her back, or her drink, when she was around Archie. While the conversation wasn’t going to be as stimulating as…with others, she could trust him. When she kissed him, her eyes flickered to the guest house and she pushed aside thoughts of anyone else. He broke the kiss, angry with her, confused, and upset. She wept bitterly in her failure. She’d moved too fast, spurred on by her parents’ approval of him. She’d actually pictured how much happier they’d be if she got pregnant by Archie. She clutched her belly, cold and empty, and burned with jealousy at the thought of Polly producing babies who would cut the line of succession in front of Cheryl with her parents’ approval.

Cheryl stared at the pool and imagined her brother under the water, just like in the nightmares that had returned since Jughead left the guesthouse. It would be so easy to slip under the surface, cold, even with the heaters. She doubted she could do it, though; will away the instinct to survive. She’d end up clawing her way to the surface, making a racket and spluttering to the side of the pool. Making a scene. She stared at the bedroom window of the guest house, and brushed her hair off her shoulder, expecting heavy, wet strands for a second. No, it had just been a fantasy. She’d have to tie something to her ankle, or find another way to save herself from saving herself if she ever did it.


	7. Indelible Stain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Occurs following the Coopers taking Polly from Thornhill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning for non-con or at least dubious consent**

***I'm sorry it has taken me so long to finish this chapter. I had most of it written within a week of the previous update. I got stuck, and then life got in the way.***

Cheryl listened to her parents arguing as the Coopers drove Polly away. They snapped and snarled like terriers, dropping their usual civility. She swept down the hall towards her bedroom and shut herself inside. She thought about Jughead’s father, the man who’d murdered her brother. The man who’d spawned a gloomy, bright, resentful, yet sensitive boy. Jughead’s hands had been gentle, even when they’d been eager. He’d asked permission before spraying his seed on her. She thought about the arms that had held her while she’d slept, and unconsciously reached for her when he’d slept. She wasn’t stupid about why he did it; she knew when someone was starved for affection and touch. He hadn’t been attached to her, he’d been chasing Betty Cooper, and his attentions towards her had been for the purpose of a roof over his head. When he’d made other arrangements, he’d left, and taken her peaceful sleep with him. 

Cheryl had tried to put Jughead in her past. She’d attempted to hook up with Archie, offering the other redhead the keys to the kingdom, instead of hiding him in the guest house. He’d refused, and rejected her. She’d gotten her revenge on them both, wrecking Jughead’s birthday had been a triumphant night. She’d confronted him at Archie’s front door, daring the gloomy birthday boy to tell the other party goers about squatting on her property like a gypsy. She’d realized, despite her fear in the diner that no one would have believed Jughead if he’d attempted to convince the others that she’d allowed him to touch her. Even more unbelievable was the idea that she’d allowed him to stay with her. No. Cheryl was the one who held the power then, and she was the one who held the power now. She’d lost Jason’s babies and Polly, the one person who was keeping her mother restrained, Jughead owed her. She stood up and went to her closet.  
~

Jughead curled up on his father’s couch and curled his hand against the ache in his gut. He stared at the walls, discolored from cigarette smoke, the cheap, ugly pictures on the wall, and the shabby sofa that currently cushioned him, and sniffled back the self-pitying tears that threatened. Dinner with the Coopers, the dance, his father’s arrest and confession; the events seemed like they’d occurred weeks ago. Maybe it was him, maybe he’d just aged in a matter of hours. He hadn’t spoken to Betty since their argument at the school. He licked his lip, tasting the swollen skin where Cheryl had struck him. It was hot, and sensitive like other intimate flesh, but not bleeding. Cheryl needed to work on her follow-through.  
Jughead rolled onto his back and scrubbed a hand over his forehead. He needed a shower. He pulled himself up, reminding himself that he’d need to apologize to Fred Andrews for running out. Archie knew where he was. It wasn’t like he was hiding, but he was relieved that no one had come looking for him. Relieved and a little disappointed. He’d considered trying to sneak in her window again, but the risk of being arrested was higher than usual.

Jughead grabbed an older pair of his dad’s pajama pants and a t-shirt from his bureau. F.P. had gone pretty far in his charade at a fresh start, and under the mess left by the cops, the floors had been clean, and there hadn’t been dirty clothes in the hamper. He’d cleaned up a little of the fresh clutter, just enough to be able to get around, and he shuffled through the bottles of soap and shampoo on the floor of the bathroom. He turned on the tap and waited for the water to warm up, stripping off his dirty clothes.  
Showers were never as transformative as Jughead had always wished. He wondered about the symbolism of water, and how overused it was. Yes, it could wash away dirt, blood, and makeup, but it couldn’t wash away the events that left their marks. Satisfied that he was clean, Jughead picked up a thin, frayed towel from the back of the bathroom door. Technically it wasn’t clean, but his dad would’ve used it after his shower, so it was 'guy clean'.

The bathroom was small and damp with steam, so the teen carried the clean clothes out into the hallway and paused. The scent of perfume reached him, and he turned towards the living room. Cheryl stood, as still as a statue, beside the front door. Her nostrils flared and she took deep, harsh breaths. He looked down at himself, barefoot, wrapped in a faded, blue towel with a hole in one corner. He’d said he was sorry. She’d hit him, and he’d been dragged away like a criminal.

“What are you doing here?”

“I thought you were living at Archie’s,” Cheryl replied. She was wearing a long, black coat with a hood. She looked like a very fashionable Grim Reaper, she even wore gloves. He stared at her hands for a moment, wondering if she was going to strangle him. A crime scene, when he thought about it, was a great place to kill someone, if you planned to dump the body elsewhere. Who would ever look for evidence in a place trashed by the police? 

“No.” He made himself turn to face her, fully. She’d seen him naked before, but somehow in his old trailer, wearing a towel and sporting a fat lip, he felt more exposed. He wasn’t thickly muscled like his best friend, or tan like…anyone who let their skin see sunlight, but his body. “I came here.” He held up the clothes in his hand. “I’ll just get dressed.” He headed for the bedroom, wary of turning his back on a predator. He was a sixteen-year-old whose dad had confessed to murdering her twin brother. What could she possibly want from him now? She’d made it clear at his birthday party that she hated him. Maybe she was here to kill him. Maybe she was here to get revenge. FP took Jason from his family, it would be poetic to kill the man’s son.  
The bedroom door didn’t close very well. Without a proper foundation, older trailers tended to warp with the cold winters. Jughead left it open and just stepped around the bureau, pulling on the pants. He couldn’t fill his dad’s shoes, but he could try and fill his pajamas. A bitter laugh almost broke out, but the fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Evolution hadn’t left this trait behind yet, and warned him, that he needed to watch his back. 

Jughead turned slowly, and faced Cheryl. 

“How do you move quietly in those?” he asked, glancing at her stilettos.

“Practice,” she replied. Her gaze moved around the room, taking in the shabby furniture, and the clutter. When she looked back at him, her eyes were empty. “Polly’s gone back to Betty’s.”

“Good.” 

When Cheryl raised an eyebrow, Jughead felt his stomach muscles – and his balls – tighten up with fear. “I think you actually made the temperature drop,” he said.

“No, that would be the draft coming from…” she glanced around the bedroom, “-everywhere.” 

Jughead felt more naked now than he had while in bed with Cheryl. He had no backpack, or laptop, or the walls of the school to shield him. He didn’t have a formica table and a red, vinyl booth as a shield. He couldn’t pretend that his surroundings were irrelevant. Not here. Not standing in the trashy trailer where he was raised, not feeling the cheap flooring that was chipped under his bare feet. Not feeling the cold that seeped through the poorly insulated floor, and not while looking at Cheryl who oozed class and money in front of him. 

“Betty loves her sister more than anyone living at Thornhill.” 

The teen pushed past Cheryl and shut off the bedroom light. He couldn’t remain cornered by her, so he went back to the living room and started picking up after the police. His cheeks burned as he did it, knowing he couldn’t make the place presentable, no matter what he did, but he still couldn’t leave the empty beer bottles that had spilled out of the plastic bag where they’d been stored to be taken back to the bottle redemption.  
“The cops trashed the place, otherwise I’d offer you a place to sit,” he said, not bothering to look up.

“I wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Something like what?” He straightened up and looked at her.

“Sit down with you.” She gestured around the room. “Not here, in your…place. Not at school, in the cafeteria, not at Pop’s, and not at any kind of event.” She kept her eyes focused on Jughead’s. She didn’t need to clarify anything else. It didn’t matter where their mouths had been, or how vulnerable they’d been. It didn’t change the fact that she wouldn’t seek him out, socially.

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” Jughead wiped his hands on his pant legs and crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn’t pride, it was defiance. He wouldn’t take back the apology just because she hadn’t accepted it, and he wouldn’t stop being sorry just because she was a bitch. He would stand there and take whatever she threw at him.

“Are you sleeping with Betty Cooper?” 

The question caught Jughead off-guard. 

“No,” he replied quickly. “Not yet.” He could’ve kicked himself for revealing his intentions with Betty. They might be in serpent territory, but Cheryl was the most venomous creature he’d ever met. “Why do you care?”

“Has she let you touch her?” Cheryl tilted her head to the side. “Has she let you put your hands under her sweater?” Her gaze was genuinely curious, instead of spiteful. Jughead stood still and didn’t answer. “Has she let you touch her anywhere else?” When the silence continued, she took a step closer, stilettos making less noise than they should. “Does Betty Cooper shave?” she asked, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Does she shave down there?” She used her tone deliberately, and playfully. “Does she let you put your hands between her legs?”

“Get out.” Jughead spoke quietly, but he couldn’t look Cheryl in the eye. “I’m never going to be able to make up for what my dad did. There’s nothing I can do to make it right, but Betty tried to help. She’s been trying to find Jason’s killer.”

“She took Jason’s babies away from me!” Cheryl shouted. Her voice loud in the small room. Tears fell from her eyes and she struck out at Jughead again. She slapped at his chest, pushing him backwards. “She came in the middle of the night, and took Polly away!”

“Polly doesn’t belong to you.” Jughead gripped Cheryl’s wrist when she tried to hit him again. “Her babies don’t belong to you either.” He shoved her away from him, and she stumbled back, surprised. Her eyes went from round to narrow in the next second. He blocked the flurry of gloved slaps and punches, falling comically soft against him.

“Those babies are my flesh and blood,” she said, flailing, until Jughead caught her arms and turned her around, holding her back to his chest. He trapped her there, breathing heavily and spoke.

“I know they are, and Polly is a good person. She won’t shut you out; she probably just got smart and wanted to get away from your parents.”

“You want to talk about parents?” With strength that shouldn’t have been surprising when considering her athleticism, Cheryl broke his grip and shoved him against the wall. “Your father murdered my brother. He took him away from us.” She was crying again, and her pain was present in her words. Shame washed over him, hot and ugly for bringing up families without thinking. Living without Jason was agony, and FP had taken him away. Then Jughead had hurt her by leaving without a word of thanks because he’d been embarrassed by her friends at Pop’s. 

“I didn’t know,” Jughead said, quietly, defiance gone. He looked at his feet, pale and bare, because he couldn’t look her in the eye. “I swear, Cheryl. I didn’t know until he confessed.” He closed his eyes and rested his head back against the wall. “I wish I could make it up to you.” 

Cheryl’s hands were bare when they touched Jughead. He hadn’t noticed her taking off the gloves but her hands, warm and soft, curled around his arms right before her lips covered his. He didn’t move. He didn’t try to hold her or push her away; he just stood and took it. The same way he had in the cafeteria. It wasn’t really a kiss, there wasn’t any softness, or even much puckering, just a possessive, angry mouth coated in lipstick attacking his. 

Jughead took it. He let Cheryl bite and lick and suck at his mouth, he let her shoved him onto the floor, and he landed half-wedged in the narrow space beside the couch with his head thumping against the fake wood. The cold seeped up like it always did, and he felt like the floor didn’t separate him from the cold ground when he lay on his back, staring up at her. She removed her jacket, placed it on a clear spot on the kitchen counter and stepped out of her shoes. She wore only Jason’s football jersey, and he knew this because he could see underneath it.

Jughead held his hands up, automatically when Cheryl crouched over him and reached for his bare stomach. Her red nails seemed to threaten his vulnerable flesh. He gripped her wrists, and she paused, looking him in the eye. He gave his head a slight shake. 

“Jughead-” she began.

“You don’t want this,” he said, desperately. “You don’t really want to be with me. Not here, like this.”

“I’m not being with you,” she said, pulling her wrist out of his grasp. “I’m collecting on a debt.” Cheryl tugged at the front of his pants, throwing one leg over his thighs despite Jughead’s fumbling, and eventually just groped at him through the fabric. “You owe me this.” He let out a yelp when she managed to catch his balls with the edge of a long fingernail during her frantic struggle. She looked apologetic, because she wasn’t trying to hurt him that way.

“Cheryl, stop.” Jughead caught her arms and held them for a moment. “Please.” Her hair fell against his neck because of how close she was leaning, and he could feel her breath on his face.

The redhead looked at the young man and seemed to see him. Really see him. She dropped to her knees, on either side of his legs and gently rested a slim hand on his chest. Her lips were parted, and her gaze was a little bewildered, like she was as surprised to see herself here as he was. Her gaze went to her wrists, where his hands gripped her, tightly, and then back to his face.

“If you don’t let go,” she whispered, softly, “you might leave a bruise.”

The two people on the floor stared at each other without words. Jughead’s mind fought sluggishly through his emotions, reminding him that he could think faster than this, and that denial wasn’t going to help anyone right now. Cheryl was right. If he held on any tighter, his touch would leave a mark. An Indelible stain; permanent. Not that it wouldn’t heal, but the fact that it had existed at all, meant it could never be erased. A bruised Blossom, so far below the ragged hole from which Jason hadn’t been spared, but no less condemning. On an actual flower, bruises didn’t heal, on the boy, the bullet hadn’t either. 

Jughead released Cheryl’s wrist and lowered his hands to the floor. He dropped his head back, too. His father might remain absent from his life forever, but he was still alive. Cheryl had nothing. Her parents were insane, Polly had left, and Jason was dead. The moments of comfort that she’d taken from him in the guest house were tiny drops in the bucket compared to what she’d lost. He might not want to give her what she wanted to take, but he wasn’t willing to leave a single mark on her in order to stop her. He wasn’t willing to do anything at all to stop her from taking anything from him.

Cheryl’s gaze showed the vast emptiness inside her. Not because of some bullshit like it being the windows of her soul, but because the only thing present was need. There was no pity, no compassion, no sympathy, just need. Jughead gave her a tiny nod. She hesitated, dropping her hands to her bare knees and tilting her head to the side, warily.

“It’s-it’s okay,” he said, swallowing around the painful tightness in his throat. “You…can.”  
Jughead gave over, and he felt his body relax. There was a kind of relief in knowing what she wanted. He lifted his hips when she pulled his pants down and didn’t make a noise when his bare ass touched the cold floor. He felt the cold air and then her warm fingers brush over him as she took him in hand and tugged him to life. As his body answered her demands, he glanced to the side and saw his baseball underneath the couch. It had been one of the things he’d had at the drive-in, tossing it up in the air and catching it while he’d lain on the narrow bunk. He had left it behind with the graffiti and the hot plate. Someone had brought it back to the trailer.

Jughead gasped as he felt Cheryl’s hand grip the base of his now-erect penis tightly and angle it straight up as she hovered over him. Their eyes met and she paused before shuffling around, giving him a moment of hope when she moved off him. She was turning around, however, not leaving, and her toes grazed his bare chest when she moved to straddle him again. She wouldn’t look him in the eye while she was doing it to him. He wasn’t sure if it was a sign of her guilt over what she was doing, or her disgust.

Jughead stared up at the back of Jason’s jersey as Cheryl lined herself up and pressed downward. She wasn’t very wet, and it probably hurt a little, but she didn’t make a sound, or slow down until her bottom was resting on his bare hips. He closed his eyes because despite the fucked-up situation, it physically felt just as good as he’d imagined. Being sheathed inside her, blood hot and soft, had him throbbing in seconds. He bucked upwards, automatically and saw her spine stiffen. He reached for her hips and braced his feet on the floor. 

Cheryl held Jughead’s knees and used them for leverage as she lifted herself slightly, and then began to grind her pelvis against him. She rocked and circled her hips, not moving up and down, but seeking the stimulation he knew she preferred. He pushed his own hips up, telling himself it should end as quickly as possible. He blew out a breath as she continued to use him on the floor of his living room. He turned his head to the side and looked at the baseball, trying to get his mind on something other than the blood-hot, slick fist that gripped his dick. He grunted and squeezed her hips reflexively as she made a hard grind and dug her nails into his knee. 

It didn’t last long, it couldn’t. It was too much when Cheryl started to moan. The sound of her whimpering breaths and the way she tossed her head back as her thighs gripped Jughead’s was too much like their nights in the guest house. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna go,” Jughead grunted, bucking up inside Cheryl. He heard her moan and roll her hips more quickly. He felt her release one of his knees and felt her fingers as she reached between her own legs, trying to finish herself off. He couldn’t hold off any longer and let out a strangled noise as he came, arching up and lifting her hips with his as he desperately tried to get deeper. His climax hit in hard waves as he pumped himself inside her and then he felt the quivering clenches as she made her own gasps. And arched her back, throwing her head back, but all he could see was her hair and the jersey that read Blossom.  
Jughead’s legs collapsed and Cheryl pitched forward, catching herself on his knees. She gave a few jerks of her hips as the last spasms died away, and then they breathed together.  
Shame crawled through Jughead as hot as lava. He hated himself for wanting to sit up and put his arms around Cheryl. Cheryl Blossom who’d demanded his virginity. He’d given it to her, and physically enjoyed it. He thought about Betty, and the baseball that his dad had gone back inside the drive-in booth to find. He pictured his dad tossing it up in the air while he’d sat on the couch watching television, and he felt tears well up and spill down his temples. 

Scrubbing a fist over his eyes, Jughead pushed himself up to his elbows, and then sat up. Cheryl was still sitting on him, and he was still inside her. He sniffled slightly and heard her huff.

“Crying?” she asked. “Over what?” Her tone was scornful and she made a sound of annoyance when he gripped her waist and half-lifted, half-pushed her off him.  
Jughead stood and pulled up his pants.

“Goodbye, Cheryl.” He said, walking past her and then paused. He picked up a box of tissues, turned around and held them out. He wasn’t crying anymore. He gave the box a shake and she took them. She wasn’t crying anymore, but she’d need them to clean herself up. He went back into the bathroom and although he didn’t hear her leave the trailer, he heard her car start up and pull away. He sat on the edge of the tub, buried his face in his hands and sobbed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Although Jughead verbally consents to sex, he doesn't want it to happen. His way of rationalizing it in no way lessens it.**


	8. Cold and warm

Cheryl thanked Betty politely before ending the phone call, because it was only courteous to thank the person trying to save you from a murderer. It should’ve filled her with dread and adrenaline; the news that she was so close to a killer, but she felt very little. She was a Blosssom. Blossoms were cool under fire and should always remain calm during a crisis. It’s what made them future leaders.  Her face felt cold and she guessed that the blood had probably drained from her face, but she didn’t bother to stop and look in the mirror. That would’ve just been vanity. As she approached her bedroom door, she opened it without fear because she knew her father wouldn’t be waiting on the other side with a gun. Daddy had respected Jason, and he’d killed him because of some threat Jason had posed. She knew it…now. It made far more sense than F.P. Jones eliminating a witness. Blossoms weren’t in the wrong place at the wrong time. Blossoms made enemies.

Cheryl walked towards the stairs and felt a flutter in her belly. She was afraid of falling down the stairs, something she hadn’t feared since the funeral. Mommy needed to know what Daddy had done. She felt a little bit high because she was going to be the one to tell them both what she knew. She’d need to hurry, because the Sheriff and his deputies would probably be there soon. She walked into the dining room where her parents coolly ignored her until she paused beside her mother’s chair.

~

Cheryl remained beside her mother until the coroner had left. She’d expected something from Penelope, like some kind of comfort or explanation. Her mother should’ve at least reassured Cheryl that she’d known nothing about Jason’s death. Penelope remained stubbornly silent, as if drawing back the curtain on the Blossom act revealed an empty room. The act might not have been real, but there was nothing else under the surface. Her mother simply didn’t care enough about Cheryl to behave like a human. Cheryl went cold inside when Penelope went through her evening routine of a few glasses of wine, some pills, and her empty bed. Cheryl returned to her own room and paused when she spotted the photograph of Jughead and his younger sister. An uncomfortable sensation settled in her belly, it twisted and pulled at her, rising to tighten her throat.

Jughead’s father hadn’t murdered Jason. Cheryl had forgotten to think about the innocent man sitting in jail. There was only one explanation for why the leader of a biker gang had taken the fall for her father; he’d threatened the man’s son. F.P. Jones was a far better parent than Penelope or Clifford. Her nose stung as she realized the same misguided integrity that kept a father silent while he took an undeserved punishment had passed to his son. Jughead, believing his father was a murderer, had accepted Cheryl’s cruelty. He’d allowed her to soil his body and took a punishment for someone else because he’d thought he deserved punishment by association. She ran to the bathroom and retched violently. She hadn’t eaten much, and only bitter bile came up but when the heaving ceased, she gasped with the effort to breathe. Her sobs came out painfully and loudly, but the wing was empty, and no one was there to hear her. No one was there. She wiped her face and stumbled outside to the guest house. It was all wrong; new paint, new furniture and when she climbed the stairs, she saw a new bed with new sheets. She cried harder, crawling across the floor and pulling herself onto the bedspread underneath the window. In the dark she could close her eyes and pretend that it was the old guest house. The one that hadn’t changed since before Jason’s death, and the one where she’d been able to sleep beside her classmate.

Cheryl wanted to talk to Jason. She wanted to be comforted by the only person who’d loved her unconditionally, and undeservedly. For the first time since he’d died, Cheryl missed him for more than the same of missing him. She wanted her big brother.

~

Jughead was surprised when Cheryl approached him at the lunch table. She approached all of them, really. Betty, Archie and Veronica too. She’d wronged them all in one way or another, and the gentle happiness she radiated while she made her amends felt strangely real. She’d apologized to him for hitting him, but there was no moment where she implied that she’d done anything outside of the cafeteria to him. He accepted her pin with a shrug and ignored the implication that he’d only have use of it as an object to pawn. It was unsettling, but he didn’t want to see her again. He sat beside Betty; warm, soft Betty. Betty was far from uncomplicated but being with her was simple and effortless. She never stopped reaching for him, either by physically touching him, holding eye contact for long seconds, or allowing him to see her vulnerability. She made him feel like he was needed. Cheryl had made him feel like garbage and he pushed thoughts of her away.

~

Betty and Archie were the ones to see it. Jughead was surprised that as the resident dark, brooding soul, that he hadn’t been the one to realize that Cheryl’s apparent elation wasn’t a result of relief at finally knowing the truth about her brother’s death, but a final resolve. Kicking through the snow and screaming her name, he couldn’t keep up with his best friend who ignored the dangers of thin ice because someone was in danger. He felt the snow burn his hands as he brushed it away from the surface of the ice, telling his friends to spread out. He stood and watched while Archie bloodied his fists punching his way through the ice. He saw her pale, motionless form laid out on the snow and paced while Betty screamed for help and Archie breathed for Cheryl.

Jughead stumbled and slipped through the snow as Archie carried Cheryl back to the shore. He handed his coat over to Betty when the girls stayed in the back seat with Cheryl, rubbing her icy limbs and trying to drag circulation back through her body. She glanced up at him, briefly and he gave her a nod and turned around, adjusting the heater to pour as much hot air into the back seat as possible. He wondered if she’d ever feel warm again.

~

Cheryl was cold, but not as cold as Penelope, who continued to ignore her daughter. Cheryl took Rose to the first floor, near the doorway and placed a warm robe over the old woman’s lap and a wool shawl over her shoulders. She returned for the candelabra and felt the knot in her belly loosen for the first time since she could remember. She needed a clean slate, one that would punish her as much as it would relieve. She deserved to lose all her beautiful clothes, she deserved to lose her furniture and jewelry, truly they’d never been hers. Nothing was hers, not really. She hated the reminder and set it alight. Penelope’s hysterics didn’t penetrate the cold, and she barely flinched when her mother didn’t bother to try and get her out of the house, caring only for the portrait.  She wheeled Rose out of the house and waited for the inevitable sirens.

~

Jughead was warm inside. He’d been moved by Betty’s speech. He hadn’t even cared that he wasn’t being pushed into the spotlight the way Archie was. It didn’t matter to him that Archie was being asked to take credit for what Jughead and Betty had discovered. His best friend’s discomfort at the idea of doing it was enough. Betty had gone back to the trailer park with him because she’d just wanted to be with him. His heart swelled with something hard to identify. He took off his coat, words failing him for a minute or two. He loved her. He loved her and he told her. He focused on her taste and scent as they came together in a mix of hormone and emotions. It was simple and perfect. It was exactly what his first time should be like, and exactly who it should be with. Should’ve. Betty is who he should’ve been with.

Jughead pushed Cheryl and the corner of his living room out of his mind as he pushed Betty up against the countertop and they began shedding clothes. She accepted his caresses eagerly, and he couldn’t wait to go down on her. The knock on his door made him lose his erection instantly. It had to be Alice. No one else had timing as effective as Betty’s mother for spoiling a good time. He was wrong, however, and the presentation of his serpent jacket warmed him in a different way. _Family_. He was family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly finished. I needed to play a little catch up with the show's timeline. Next Chapter is about Cheryl and Jughead.


	9. Exchange

Jughead saw little of Cheryl after his transfer to Southside High. He’d tried not to think about her once he’d received a clean bill of health on his STI panel because his feelings were complicated. Part of him hated her; she’d demanded something from him that she hadn’t deserved. More accurately, she’d demanded something he hadn’t owed her, and he’d given it. She hadn’t acknowledged him since the night her house had burned, and then Archie’s father had been shot which occupied his thoughts. He told himself he’d been stupid enough to stick his dick in crazy, but he didn’t have to agonize about it. He’d ridden his dad’s motorcycle sparingly, not wanting to get arrested for driving it without a license. He’d taken his driver’s test for regular cars, but hadn’t made the bike official yet.

Jughead read the battered paperback handed out in his English Lit class and ignored the poorer quality of “Death of a Salesman” compared to the small, hardcover versions that Riverdale High had provided.  He pulled his feet off the coffee table when he heard a soft knock at his door. Most of the serpents would’ve just yelled as they opened the door, and Betty would’ve texted him before coming over. He went to the door and opened it, surprised to see Cheryl.

“Uh, Cheryl. Hi.” He cleared his throat and waited for the redhead to speak. He blushed and stepped back, gesturing to the living room. “Come in?”

“No, thank you,” Cheryl said, with plastic politeness. “I just wanted to return this.” She held out an envelope and he paused before reaching out to take it. His first thought was that she was paying him off.

Jughead opened the envelope, glancing around to see if anyone was watching them. He saw the creased photograph of himself and Jellybean and leaned against the doorframe.

“I thought I’d lost it,” he mumbled, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Thanks.” He reached out when she started to turn away and touched her shoulder. “I-uh, have something of yours too.”

Jughead went back into the living room and to where his jacket was draped over the couch. He picked it up and fished around in the pocket before turning around and nearly jumping out of his skin. “Jesus!” he hissed. Cheryl stood directly behind him, surprising him again with her ability to move without sound.

“What is it?” She asked, greedily, reaching for his hand before he had a chance to hold it out. He let her pry his fingers open and saw her surprise when her delicate fingertips brushed over the spider pin. “Oh.” She lifted it from his palm and looked at it, closely. “You didn’t sell it.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Too weird.” He shrugged. “Selling someone else’s jewelry’s not really my thing.”

 “Thank you,” Cheryl said, staring at the pin. “I lost nearly everything else in the fire.” She glanced up, but her gaze caught on something over Jughead’s shoulder before her eyes caught his. He turned to see what she was looking at and blushed again when he realized she was looking at the corner of the room where they’d…

 “Uh, was there anything else-”

 “Did you want to?” She asked, looking him in the eye. “Not then,” she continued, nodding to the corner. “I know you didn’t want to, then.” Her gaze was intense and her eyes round with curiosity. “I mean now. It’s only fair if I let you do it when you want to.”

 “You mean _It’s only fair_ because you don’t want to.” He watched her shrug and took a deep breath. “You didn’t really want to…do it then either, did you?” He watched her blink owlishly at him. “You were angry, but you didn’t want me.”

“I might have, some other time.”

“No.” Jughead squared his shoulders. “I don’t want to.”

“Rain check.”

“No,” he shook his head. “You don’t _owe me_ this.” He put her words between them. “I could say you owe me an apology, but I don’t think I’d want one.”

“I don’t-”

“Thank you for giving me back the picture, Cheryl. I’m glad you weren’t hurt in the fire.” He nodded to the door. “Can we just be done?”

“Did I hurt you?” The question was a surprise. Cheryl seemed genuinely curious about his answer.

“Yes.” Jughead didn’t bother to hide his feelings. “Why?” he asked. “Why did you want… that?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” There was a small tremble in Cheryl’s lips as she spoke. It told him more than her actual words did. No one but the two of them would understand. By leaving, he’d taken away her ability to feel safe. He’d left her alone with a murderer, however naively, and left her without the feeling of control that his presence had given her. It wasn’t his responsibility to make sure she could sleep, and it wasn’t his responsibility to put himself where she could control him, but he understood. For people like the Blossoms, they would see a person re-taking freedom as a betrayal and theft. They wouldn’t be grateful for what they’d been given, only angry at the loss. Sexually she’d started taking things from him before he was ready, but he wasn’t like her. He wouldn’t do something like that.

“Where are you living now?”

“We have a smaller home.”

“Not the guest house?”

“It burned.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Cheryl shrugged and crossed to the door. “Daddy had it remodeled. It wasn’t the same.” He wasn’t sure if she was sad because it wasn’t the same place where she could pretend Jason was alive, or because it wasn’t the same as when they’d slept there together.

“Goodbye Cheryl.”

“Goodbye, Jughead.”

Cheryl left and he didn’t bother to try and continue reading. He just stared at his ceiling and thought about the feel of her sleeping beside him. He thought about how she’d smelled and tasted, and how soft her skin was. His lip curled when he remembered how she’d taken him inter her mouth against his wishes, and then spit his substance on the sheets. He remembered her look of disgust in the diner, and the soft threat she’d used to get him to stop fighting and let her fuck herself on him. _You might leave a bruise_. No one would have ever believed him, and it’s the only reason he hadn’t confessed to Archie. He hadn’t even considered it. For a second he thought about taking her up on her offer, this time with a condom, and being on top of her, fucking her through a mattress.

Archie would never have done something like that, because he was a better man than Jughead. He hadn’t ever had Cheryl’s mouth- or any other part of her body- engulfing him, and he still busted his hand breaking through the river’s ice to save her. Jughead wasn’t as good a man as his friend, but he wouldn’t do it. As it was, Cheryl saw herself as being in his debt, it was a marginally safer place to be than in her path. He’d take it. It wasn’t leverage, not really, but at least he could look at himself in the mirror now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to finish this. I had trouble keeping their interactions consistent with the timeline. This was never a romantic story, and there was never a happy ending coming for these two. They're teenagers and she has some PTSD and abuse issues while Jughead has an inferiority complex. This is what drives them to act. They're teenagers, not adults with well-developed coping skills. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for your comments.


End file.
